The Letter Ex.

Dear Aquarius,

How do you fall in love? Do you trip? Do you stumble and soar off a precipice hoping to land on your feet? Or do you float gently to the ground, hair settling around you like a halo?

I fell. I fell with a thump so loud I thought my world had cracked apart. It was just the way I felt when I first saw your smile. When you sat next to me for the first time. When you held my hand.

Maybe my world did crack. And in typical you fashion, you've left me to fix it, alone.

I thought I was doing ok. I was no longer sleeping in your tshirt. I was no longer searching for your feet in bed. I was no longer prone to having my phone taken off me, lest I call you in a drunken crying heap.

But all it takes it one small factor. The most minute of complications, and suddenly I need to look at myself very hard in the mirror and say "You know what kid, we may be in a bit of trouble here."

The catalyst? An innocent conversation between myself and one of the people at your work place. Your workplace hires thousands of people, for fucks sake...why did the one I end up talking to know so much about you?

You've hurt your knee. You cant work at the moment. Why cant you look after yourself when Im not around? Its so frustrating.

The last time we were apart, your friends told me you were depressed and couldnt even get out of bed some days. When I went on holidays, you had to have an operation and were bed ridden for weeks. We broke up for a few weeks and you got into a fight. You left me at a festival and on the way back to her you nearly got into a fight. And now, you have injured yourself to the point where you cant even work.

The point I'm trying to make is that all of this stuff never happens when I'm around. So why have you left me. Why the fuck do you continue this stupid charade?

You are not the only one to be affected by our split. I want my life back, dammit. I want to be able to listen to songs without melancholy. Why should you be the little thought in my head that never goes away?

Im sleeping better now. All of those little things about bedtime that used to irritate you and enrage me are gone. I fall asleep easily. I did have to resort to hypnotherapy to reach this point, but hey, a miracle is a miracle no matter what way you look at it.

I have dreamless sleeps. When I do dream, its no longer of you. I think life has decided that its not fair for me to think about you all day and all night too. I'm moving on. I like other boys now. I kiss other boys now. Heck, I even sleep with other boys. Does that bother you? I hope that bothers you. I dont care if that bothers you. Really doesnt bother me.

I like to think that one day I will see you again. We will both be slightly taken aback, but strong enough to graciously acknowledge each other and then move on. On to our new lives. Well, on to my new life. You might still be stuck with her. But thats no longer any of my business.

So even though its taken me so long to say it - Thank you. Thank you for being so cruel and ambiguous with my heart. Its taking a long time to heal, but I finally have the want to let it heal. Even if its just plastered over with optimism and hope for the future.

I just hope no one sees the cracks.

Ever but never yours,

Lion.

Overheard.

Boy A - How would you survive a Nazi Zombie attack? The only tools you have are a buffalo, and a clowns wig.

Boy B - I would wave the wig and amke the buffalo charge and attack the zombies.

Boy A - Thats very clever, I did not think of that.

Boy B - How would you do it?

Boy A - I would mate with the buffalo and build an army of babies, which would overpower the zombies.

Boy B - What if the buffalo was male?

Boy A - Thats ok, I'm not homophobic.

One more try.

I have to admit. I nearly gave up. I thought about closing off this blog and never bothering with it again. Whats the point? Does any one care?
The amount of time that people spend reading it doesn't even compare to the amount of time I have spent feeling guilty over it. Guilty that I cant even manage to keep up a poxy blog once or twice a week. Guilty that I couldn't manage to do something that was purely for me, as a way to vent. Guilty that my laziness was winning over my joy in writing. Guilty because...well, that's me. Little Miss Guilty Conscience.

Well. Here I am again. Don't feel so bloody special, my online dating has also stalled somewhat. I did end up meeting one of them, and he turned out to be the biggest asshole known to man. So I cant even be bothered to speak to any others. I've fulfilled my loser quotient for the month, thanks.

OK, let me delve a little deeper into that story. I quite liked the sound of this one, he was intelligent, polite, kind hearted and liked the same music as I did. He was perfect on paper. Well aren't they all bloody perfect on paper...

When I met him, he was nothing like what his picture showed. Mistake number one. Yes, he slightly resembled that smiling happy passport sized picture he had posted on the net, but what stood before me was a poor shadow of that image.

He was a lot shorter than I had imagined. Now that's no fault of his, but rather something to me that is non negotiable. I am small enough so to have someone almost as short as me is...well...unacceptable, frankly.

To be fair to him, I had been out for the whole night and rocked up to meet him for a coffee slightly worse for wear. However, in my defense, I know when I look like a train wreck, and this was not one of those times. I was holding up surprisingly well, considering I was still wearing a leather mini dress and vinyl heels from the previous nights festivities. All smartly covered with a trench coat, mind you. So if I looked like a hooker, at least I looked like a high class one.

When I told him of my previous nights engagements he expressed surprise and amazement that I could do so, and them immediately accused me of taking drugs. Now, as you know, dear reader, I am not averse to sprucing the night up with a bit of chemical fun. However to be judged by some idiot who I only just met without any sort of former proof was absolutely ridiculous.

The line of work that I do is not entirely held together from moral fibre. No, it does not involve anything from the sex industry. No, I am not an assassin or ninja or hit man. No, I am not a real estate agent. However I do work with gamblers, and the invention of lucrative manners of which to pry the cash from their sweaty clenched fists.

Now, this certain person who I was meeting was aware of this. We had spoken about it a few times previously. However he chose the first time that we would meet to express exactly what he thought about it. The vitriol that spewed forth was alarming to say the least. It put me in that much of a position where I had to yell back, telling him to shut up, Shut Up SHUT UP. I had to shout, he was so far up on his moral high horse, he would not have heard me otherwise...

He then said that he didn't have time for a coffee and would it be OK if we did this another time. I immediately took offense to this and started yelling about how there was no way he was brushing me off, I would be the one brushing him off. I then stormed off, hyperventilating.

All joking aside, can you honestly imagine? What the hell happened? As far as I can see, I did nothing wrong. I had been myself completely, in our previous correspondence. He then uses it to take me to task the first time we meet? What kind of lunatics are in this world?

So here I announce that my foray into the world of online dating has come to an end. It was a short lived and hopefully short remembered one. You may think I've taken artistic license with this, in order to make you laugh, or to shock you. I assure you, dear reader, I have not.